


Maybe Love Is The Reason Why

by etmuse



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-28
Updated: 2011-03-28
Packaged: 2017-10-17 08:35:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etmuse/pseuds/etmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will asks Merlin an important question. Merlin's struggle for an answer leads him on a journey of self-discovery that lands him somewhere he'd never have imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe Love Is The Reason Why

**Author's Note:**

> Written anonymously for the 'Spring Fling' fest on merlin_kinkme.

“Move in with me.”

Merlin blinks, his body otherwise frozen. Will is looking at him earnestly from the other side of the table, a smile on his face.

“Wh-what?” he manages to stutter out.

“Move in with me,” Will repeats. “You know you hate having to get up early to go via your flat to change when you’ve stayed over. And I hate not having you there every night.”

Merlin opens his mouth to respond, but, for once, he doesn’t have the words.

“There’s plenty of room at my flat, you know there is, or we could look for someplace new together. I just…” Will shrugs self-depreciatingly. “Want to have you around.”

He is serious about this, Merlin realises. It’s not just an idle suggestion, a whim, something blurted in the spur of the moment. He’s clearly been thinking about this for a while.

For Merlin, it has come out of the blue, and he doesn’t know how to react.

“I…” Merlin starts, not quite sure what he wants to say. “I need to… Can I think about it? It’s a big step, you know, and I don’t want to just…”

“Of course,” Will interrupts. “I’m not trying to rush you into anything. I just… wanted you to know. That I wanted it.”

Merlin nods, fiddles with his napkin for something to keep his hands busy, tries to make some sense of the whirl of thoughts racing around his mind.

He suspects that he _should_ be jumping at the idea, eager to move forwards with Will, but he’s not, and he can’t really pinpoint _why_.

It’s not that he has anything _against_ the idea of living with Will, per se. He likes Will, he really likes Will. And they’ve been doing this complicated relationship dance for over a year now. It’s just the next logical step, right?

It’s what people _do_. Meet someone you like, get to know them, move in together, get married. Have a kid or two, and then almost inevitably decide you can’t actually stand each other after all and divorce, beginning the whole cycle again.

At least Merlin’s pretty sure that’s how it goes. He’s never watched the process up close – his mother had never really gotten over the death of his father, before he was even born, and of all his friends, only Gwen and Lancelot seem to be able to hold down anything like a lasting relationship.

So perhaps all this is is the fear of the unknown. He’s only lived with three people in his entire life. His mother, for the first 18 years, then Arthur. And for the last five years, Arthur and Gwaine.

Arthur and Gwaine, who he’ll have to leave if he moves in with Will. And it’s not like he’d never see them again, but…

Merlin drags himself out of thought, looks around. And realises that in the time he’s been lost going around in circles inside his own head, Will has already paid the bill and is putting his coat on.

He clambers to his feet, and ponders for a moment if he should make a fuss about the bill. Will paid last time, so technically, it is his turn, despite Will’s constant argument that he makes a better living than Merlin and can therefore afford it.

Will takes his hand, and Merlin lets himself be led out of the restaurant into the chilly November air. Will starts to head down the street to where they left his little Fiesta earlier, but Merlin stops; Will turns to look at him.

“You okay?”

Merlin nods, although he’s not entirely sure that he is. His brain is still whirring at a mile a minute. “Yeah. I just… I think maybe I should just go home, tonight. I…” He waves his free hand at the side of his head. “Need to think.”

For a split second, Merlin thinks he detects disappointment in Will’s expression, but then it is gone. Perhaps he imagined it.

“Sure,” Will nods. “I’ll give you a lift home.”

Merlin shakes his head. “There’s no need, really. It’s only 10 minutes’ walk, and you’ll have to go around the whole one way system. I’ll call you tomorrow, yeah?”

Will is clearly reluctant to acquiesce – he has always erred on the side of overprotective, and worries terribly that something will happen to Merlin alone at night, Merlin’s capability of defending himself notwithstanding – but nods slowly.

Merlin leans forward and lingers a chaste kiss on Will’s lips before pulling away, walking backwards for a few steps so he can wave a goodnight.

How he’s ever going to get to sleep tonight, he doesn’t know.

 

Arthur and Gwaine are still awake and up when he eases their front door open slowly, slumped on their sofa watching… something with explosions. Merlin isn’t sure what, and doesn’t really care.

He heads for his bedroom, not in the mood to watch aliens or soldiers or zombies - or whatever it is _this_ week – being blown up, hoping that his flatmates are engrossed enough in their film that they haven’t noticed him coming in.

“Hey!” No such luck, it seems. “You’re back early!” Arthur calls, twisting on the sofa to face him.

“Yeah,” Gwaine adds. “We weren’t expecting to see you again until tomorrow.”

Merlin hovers at the door to the living room, not sure what to say. True, more often than not, he _does_ go home with Will when they’ve been out, but he comes home often enough that it’s nothing to make note of, nothing he needs a reason for, doesn’t he?

“What’s wrong?” Arthur asks, a concerned frown writing itself across his face. “Did you and Will have a falling out?”

So maybe he doesn’t come back to the flat as often as he’d thought.

“You _can_ talk to us about it if you want, you know,” Arthur continues. “You don’t have to keep it all bottled up in that head of yours.” He scrambles down the side of the sofa and produces the remote, muting the TV.

Gwaine shuffles along to the end of the sofa, making a space between himself and Arthur. “Come on, a problem shared, and all that…” he says, patting the cushions.

Merlin stays in the doorway; Arthur and Gwaine both seem rather too eager – and definitely too pleased – to listen to whatever problems they think he and Will are having. “You just want me to be fighting with Will because neither of you like him,” he blurts bluntly.

“That’s not true,” Gwaine rejoins immediately, an unconvincing insulted expression on his face.

“When have I ever said I didn’t like Will?” Arthur says, holding his hands up questioningly.

Apparently, his best friends think he’s oblivious – and yes, okay, they might have a point, sometimes he _does_ miss things that are right in front of him – but he’d really have to be truly blind to have missed this.

“It’s not something you exactly have to say,” he points out. “It’s perfectly obvious whenever he’s around, or even when I just mention him. You don’t like him. And that’s okay. Really, it is. I don’t get what your problem with him is, but you don’t have to like him. I never said that you did. Just accept that I do, all right?”

Arthur and Gwaine are both staring at him, slightly gobsmacked at his slightly unintentional tirade. Merlin is a little surprised at his own vehemence, so he can’t blame them. Consciously relaxing his shoulders, he spins on his heel and takes a step back into the hallway, intent on actually making it to his room this time.

He pauses after a few steps, though, and turns back to poke his head back into the living room. Neither Arthur nor Gwaine have moved. “Will and I didn’t fight tonight, by the way,” he says off-handedly. “For your information, he actually asked me to move in with him.”

He turns back again quickly, before they can react. Whether they be good or bad, he’s not ready to face their reactions. He’s not sure he’s faced his own reactions yet.

He reaches his room, and nearly gets the door shut before a socked foot jams into the gap. There’s a yelp, and the door swings back open, slamming into the wall under the combined weights of Arthur and Gwaine.

“You can’t just drop something like that and then run off to hide in your room,” Gwaine declares. “Talk. Now.”

Arthur is hopping on one foot, glaring at Merlin balefully as he rubs at the other one. “And did you have to slam the door so bloody hard?” he complains. “I bet I’m going to have a bruise tomorrow.”

Merlin shrugs his coat off and drops it on his bed, giving himself time to think. “I didn’t ask you to follow me and jam my door open with your foot, Arthur, so you can’t blame me for that one,” he starts mildly. “And really,” he shrugs. “What is there to talk about?”

“Whether you’re going to do it, for a start,” Gwaine replies, sounding frustrated.

And that’s the crux of it, really. Merlin shakes his head, throws his hands in the air, and sinks onto the end of the bed, staring at his feet. “I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “I… It’s… That’s why I came home, instead of going home with Will tonight. I need to think it over. On my own.”

He looks up at his flatmates, his best friends. For once, he can’t read the expressions on their faces at all. “This is big,” he says quietly. “It’s the next step on the ladder, you know? I need to be sure.”

He doesn’t tell them just how _unsure_ he is. How sitting here in this room, _his_ room, even with Arthur and Gwaine in it, is bringing it home to him just exactly what he’d be giving up if he moved in with Will.

There’s a long silence, calculating glances are exchanged; it’s deafening.

“When were you going to tell us?” Gwaine says eventually. “If we hadn’t stopped you tonight?”

“Tomorrow?” Merlin shrugs one shoulder. “When I’d decided if I was going to do it or not? I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it.”

There’s another silence, Gwaine and Arthur shifting awkwardly; Arthur is still favouring one foot slightly, and it could be that he’s right, and it’ll be bruised in the morning.

“Well… goodnight,” Arthur says, taking a step backwards. “We’ve all got work in the morning, so…”

“I don’t,” Gwaine interrupts, a smile making a faint appearance on his lips.

Arthur nudges him. “Ok, afternoon in your case, but Merlin and I actually have to be up early, so…” He trails off, indicating the door with a jerk of his head.

“Goodnight,” Merlin says gratefully, nodding at them.

A few jerky nods and smiles later, they’ve backed out of the room, leaving Merlin to the roar of his own thoughts.

Closing his eyes, he crashes back on top of the duvet, breathing out slowly.

This conversation really hasn’t helped at all. And he’s definitely not getting any sleep tonight.

 

Merlin glares at his alarm clock when it blares out at 7.15, batting at it grumpily. He’s not sure when exhaustion finally took over and let him drift into a restless sleep, but he knows it wasn’t long ago.

Hours of lying awake, staring at the ceiling in the dark, haven’t even helped him come to any sort of decision about what he’s going to do. His brain is cycling thoughts so quickly he hasn’t had a chance to actually examine any of them.

And worry over the fact that he’s so far been utterly incapable of making the decision isn’t exactly lowering the levels of anxiety.

He’s not usually this indecisive. Moving out of his mother’s home and travelling 200 miles away to live in a cramped flat with Arthur hadn’t seemed as tortuously difficult to decide on as this. Both of them moving in with Gwaine a couple of years later had almost been decided at the drop of a hat.

Something is holding him back this time, and he just wishes he knew what it was.

The snooze alarm goes off just as he hears the front door close. Arthur must be running late – he’s usually out of the door and on his way to the train station well before Merlin wakes up.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Merlin drags himself out of bed. If he doesn’t get going in the next twenty minutes he’ll miss the bus, and he’s pretty sure he has a full schedule of appointments for the morning, so he can’t afford to be late.

The kettle is still warm when, clothes haphazardly flung on, he stumbles to the kitchen. He grabs his travel mug from the drainer as it re-boils, sniffs the milk just to be sure. He can do this in his sleep, more or less, the routine honed after years of caffeine dependency. This morning, he’s not entirely sure he _isn’t_ doing it in his sleep.

The bitingly cold wind that hits him in the face the second he steps out of their building’s front door shocks him into a temporary alertness; he’s glad of his warm mug as he walks the short distance down the street to the bus stop, ducks into the aging shelter, rests his head against the wall in the corner.

The bus is late, the bus is always late, and Merlin has almost dozed off on his feet when it rolls noisily up; he nearly misses his stop to get off, too, the coffee not kicking in quite yet, his head lolling against his chest.

He glances at the small mirror on the wall of the staff room when he gets to work, making a vague attempt at smoothing the windswept look as he changes, but knowing he isn’t particularly successful. How Nimueh, who sweeps into the room just as he’s heading out, manages to look so neat and composed he cannot fathom.

Some combination of sugary snacks from the vending machine and excessive caffeine keep him going for the rest of the day; he hopes that none of the patients he has seen could tell how utterly exhausted he is, but suspects it was rather obvious. Most of them have been seeing him at minimum once a week for some time now anyway, so they’re probably used to his ways by now.

The steady flow of appointments, each with a history to be recalled and progress to be checked, does at least for the most part distract him from his indecision.

If he can’t come to a resolution one way or the other soon, he thinks he might actually go mad.

The howling wind has been joined by a light spatter of rain by the time he leaves the hospital and trudges back to the bus stop. There isn’t a shelter, so he’s thoroughly wet, miserable, and wishing he’d brought a waterproof coat by the time the bus arrives.

By the time he turns the key in the flat door, all he wants to do is peel out of his sodden clothes, climb under his duvet and hope that his brain shuts up for long enough to let him pass the hell out.

He gets as far as the first two before the front door bangs open and then shut again, followed by the distinctive sound of Arthur’s briefcase being forcefully dropped on the laminate floor of the entryway.

The clattering a few moments later from the kitchen is more muffled but audible nonetheless. Rolling back out of bed and fumbling in his wardrobe for a few moments to dig out his ratty dressing gown for warmth, he pads tentatively out into the living area, wondering what has Arthur upset.

Arthur is still pulling things noisily out of kitchen cupboards when Merlin reaches the door. “What’s the matter? Bad day at work?”

“Nothing you need to worry about, Merlin,” Arthur grumps, banging a mug onto the counter and reaching for the jar of instant coffee.

Merlin darts a hand out, grabbing Arthur’s wrist before he can pick it up. “You know you’ll never sleep if you drink that now,” he says, pointing out a fact they’d discovered well before they’d even finished secondary school: Arthur + caffeine past lunchtime = Arthur still wired at 3am. “And then you’ll be even crankier tomorrow.”

“Who said I was cranky?” Arthur snaps, snatching his wrist away.

Merlin just looks at him. Even with his current level of sleep deprivation, he knows that one really doesn’t need an answer.

“I just feel like a cup of coffee, okay?” Arthur does not, however, make another move for the jar of coffee, or his mug, perhaps realising even through his bad mood that Merlin has a point; it’s really not a good idea at this time of day.

He folds his arms across his chest, leans against the worktop. Merlin can detect just the very beginnings of a pout in the curl of his lips.

They stand for a minute in silence, staring each other down. Merlin feels himself start to sway a little on his feet; utter exhaustion is really kicking in. He shakes his head, breaking the lock of gazes, and starts to turn away; bed is sounding like an even better idea than it did when he’d first arrived home.

“What in God’s name are you _wearing_?”

At the sound of Arthur’s voice, Merlin freezes. Dropping his head and sighing, he turns back around. “That would be my dressing gown,” he says flatly. “You’ve seen it before.”

“I thought you’d thrown that thing out years ago. Like you should have. It’s falling apart.”

Merlin curls his arms defensively around his middle, fingers clutching into the soft fabric. “It’s comfortable,” he retorts. “And warm. And I don’t see any point tossing it when it’s still perfectly usable.”

“Of _course_ you don’t,” Arthur says, shaking his head. He starts mechanically putting the mug and spoon he’d taken out for his coffee back where they belong. “I’m not even going to ask why you’re in a bathrobe at half past six in the evening; I don’t want to know.”

Merlin opens his mouth to explain anyway, but Arthur is already brushing past him brusquely on his way out of the kitchen. Eyes beginning to close of their own accord, he stumbles back to his own room and collapses onto the mattress.

His mind too overtaxed to worry anymore, he falls asleep almost the moment his head hits the pillow.

 

Merlin’s stomach is rumbling when he wakes up the following morning, but plenty of solid sleep – when he glances at the alarm clock he realises he’s had nearly twelve hours – has done wonders for his mental state.

He knows he still has a decision to make, but it doesn’t seem like quite the dreadful ordeal it felt like yesterday. There’s a lot to think about, a lot of things to take into consideration, but he’ll get there. And whatever he decides, at least he won’t be diving into anything recklessly.

He rolls out of bed, stretching muscles cramped from his long sleep, and drifts out to the kitchen. He doesn’t usually eat breakfast during the week – unless you count crisps bought from the vending machine at work during his break – but he’s sure there’s a box of cereal still in the cupboard.

The kettle finishes boiling just as he gets to the kitchen door, and Arthur crashes bodily into his back just a fraction of a second later. Merlin manages to catch himself before he goes flying to the floor, but only just.

“What are you doing here?” Arthur pushes past him, pouring hot water into the waiting mug and stirring it absently.

Merlin rolls his shoulders, easing the crick the impact had induced. “Umm… I live here?” he replies, cocking his head. Although possibly not for very much longer, he realises, if he decides to accept Will’s offer.

“I know that, Merlin,” Arthur says, giving him his patented ‘you’re an idiot’ look. “But it’s 6.30 in the morning.” He starts to tie his tie as his coffee cools a little. “I have a routine, and you being all up and awake is just getting in the way.” He takes a cautious sip of his coffee, frowning.

Merlin blinks, a little taken aback at the bitter tone. “I fell asleep before dinner last night, and woke up early. And hungry,” he said mildly. “I thought I’d grab some breakfast before I get ready for work. If that’s not a problem with _your highness_.”

Arthur shrugs half-heartedly and walks out with his coffee. Merlin watches his back for a few seconds, confused and a bit bemused by Arthur’s mood.

If this is what he’s like in the mornings, he’s never getting up early and bumping into Arthur like this again.

He opens the cupboard, roots around; sure enough, in the back of the cupboard there’s a box of Frosties. He’s not sure how long they’ve been lurking in there, but they look okay when he pours them out so he doesn’t really care. He splashes in some milk and stands at the kitchen counter with his bowl, hoping to avoid getting in Arthur’s way any more than he has to.

Arthur breezes in about five minutes later, just as Merlin is finishing up the last of his cereal, rinses out his coffee mug and leaves again, without so much as a look at Merlin. Merlin is dismayed to discover just how much this upsets him – more than it should, he is sure. Arthur being grumpy isn’t exactly an unknown phenomena, after all.

The front door opens and closes a few seconds later.

It takes a moment for Merlin to pull himself out of contemplation and run his empty bowl under the hot tap. Glancing at the clock on the front of the microwave, he realises that for once, he can have a shower that is more than a cursory jump under some hot water for a few seconds with a bar of soap.

He is still wrapped in a towel, blinking water off his eyelashes as he tosses clean clothes on top of the duvet, when there is a low beep from the pile of clothes he’d stripped out of the evening before. Dropping the shirt in his hand onto the bed, he kneels down and rakes through them. He recognises the beep; it’s the one his mobile makes when it is just an hour or two from shutting itself off for low battery.

He’s never been particularly organised about remembering to charge his phone, so he hears that tone a lot. Finding it tucked in the pocket of the still-slightly-damp jeans he was wearing yesterday, he dismisses the low battery warning and peers around the room for the charger. It has to be here _somewhere_. He probably doesn’t have time for it to charge up fully, but hopefully he can give it enough of a boost that it won’t die until he gets home again for the day.

It isn’t until he’s located the charger and plugged it in that he notices there are still notifications on the screen.

 _3 missed calls  
1 new message_

He suspects he knows who all of them are from, and when he hits unlock and opens the missed call menu, he’s right. Will. Three calls, all while he’d been dead to the world yesterday evening, an hour or two between each one.

He navigates to the message inbox and opens the new text from Will, sent between calls 2 and 3.

 _Hey, M. Missed you last night. Hope everything ok, ur not answering calls? Any more thoughts about my q? Call me when you get this plz. Love xx_

The clock in the corner of the screen says 7.02am. Merlin doubts very much that now is a good time for a call; Will will be scrambling around getting ready for work, if he hasn’t left already.

Instead, he presses ‘reply’ and taps out a quick message, just as reassurance.

 _Hey. Am okay, sorry missed your calls. Was knackered so conked out soon as I got home! xx_

He carefully ignores the second part of Will’s message. He isn’t ready to answer, and letting the fact that Will must be anxiously waiting for an answer register in his mind will just get him panicking about the situation again.

Leaving his phone to charge, he finishes drying off and throws his clothes on. He’s in the kitchen waiting for the kettle to re-boil when he hears the message alert go off.

 _Relieved. Was getting worried. Hope u slept ok. ttyl. xx_

Merlin disconnects the charger and pockets his phone; if he doesn’t do that now, he’ll forget it - and _then_ where will he be if his bus home gets cancelled (which has happened more often than he’d like).

The water is ready when he gets back to the kitchen so he prepares his coffee, wraps up in his warm coat, and heads to work.

Freya is off sick, and as many of her appointments as possible have been rescheduled with one of the rest of them, so Merlin doesn’t really have any time during the day to think of anything but ranges of movement and muscle pain and how Mr. Ellis might nearly be ready to start trying to walk unaided soon. Even his lunch ‘break’ consists of nothing more than a canteen sandwich wolfed down on the walk back from the canteen; he’s glad that this hadn’t happened yesterday, as he’d never have survived the day.

As it is, even with twelve straight hours of sleep under his belt, he’s beginning to droop a little by the time the last patient leaves and he can change back into his street clothes and go home.

The TV is blaring when he gets in the door, from the sounds of it one of the ridiculous trashy magazine shows Gwaine always claims he’s not actually watching. (Merlin has witnessed Gwaine’s day-off TV schedule on one too many sick days to believe him. He’s still not quite sure what the point of ‘Homes Under the Hammer’ is.)

Hanging his coat up in the hallway, he drops onto the sofa next to Gwaine, dropping his head onto the back cushions for a second and closing his eyes. When he opens them again he’s confronted with some Z-list celebrity discussing gardening or some such topic. He _really_ doesn’t see the show’s appeal.

“Isn’t there something better on?” he asks wearily, more out of habit than anything else. Despite the fact that he’s _not really watching_ them, Gwaine routinely insists that these things are, in fact, the best thing on. One day, Merlin is determined to test this theory, but that day will not be today.

Gwaine says nothing. Merlin looks over at him, and he’s staring at the screen, looking miserable. “Gwaine?” he tries, getting no visible response. “This is where you’re supposed to say ‘I know it’s shit, but it’s actually the best thing on.’”

Gwaine shrugs a little.

Merlin frowns. It’s not like Gwaine to be this quiet. “Is something wrong?” he asks, concerned.

Gwaine shakes his head. “Nah. M’fine,” he mumbles unconvincingly.

The look on his face and the set of his shoulders tells Merlin a far more honest story than his words. He shifts a little closer to Gwaine on the sofa. “That might work on some people, but you’re forgetting that I _live with you_. You can’t get away with brushing me off as easily as that.”

“Honestly, Merlin, it’s nothing,” Gwaine insists, showing the first spark of life since Merlin got home, even if Merlin is still convinced he’s lying. “Just… tired or something, okay? Nothing to get your panties in a twist about.”

Merlin flops back to the sofa. Well, he tried. He can’t _make_ Gwaine talk to him.

He doesn’t seem to be able to do anything right today, as far as his flatmates are concerned.

He half watches the excitable presenters on the TV discuss something for a few minutes before trying again. There must be some way to get through to his unusually sullen friend. “Fancy Chinese tonight?” he asks casually. “My shout.”

Gwaine lifts one shoulder minutely, his attention remaining fixed on the TV screen. “Sure.”

“I’ll see what Arthur thinks when he gets in,” Merlin says brightly, trying to make up for Gwaine’s utter lack of enthusiasm with his own.

Gwaine nods absently. Merlin clearly isn’t going to get anything out of him any time soon.

Turning his mind back to the other important thing he has to do, he fetches his laptop from his room and waits as it powers up and the Wi-Fi connects, blocking out the inane chatter on the TV. If he’s going to look at this properly, he needs to apply a little logic, and that means lists.

He does rather wish there was an easy step-by-step guide to this. One of those ridiculous flowcharts or questionnaires the girls at school used to read out loud to each other in the corridors at break.

A messenger notification pops up at the bottom of his screen. _You have 36 new emails_. He hasn’t checked them for 2 days, so he isn’t too horrified by the high number. Most of them probably aren’t important anyway.

He clicks on the message, and opens up a new Google tab while he waits for the email page to load.

There’s no harm in checking…

‘Should I move in with’ he types, the auto-complete filling in ‘my boyfriend’ before he even finishes the word ‘with’.

Nearly 15 million results. Well that’s helpful. The top few answers all look like they’re from advice columns and a few of those ‘ask the internet a question and see what the world thinks’ type sites. So they’re worth a shot.

He suspects most of them were probably posted by girls, but it doesn’t make a whole lot of difference.

Within a few minutes, he’s even more confused than ever. Each piece of advice almost seems to contradict another; the only consistent message emerging as far as he can see is ‘only you can decide’. Which is _very_ helpful.

Giving up on that line of inquiry, he closes the tab and skims through his new emails.

‘Latest offers’ from Amazon… a notification that Gwen had written on his Facebook wall… spam… and a couple of replies from the few old college buddies he still keeps in touch with.

He really must remind Gwen tomorrow night that he doesn’t actually use Facebook much anymore. (Whenever he gets used to a new setup, they change it again, and he’s given up attempting to keep up.)

Nothing of huge importance or urgency, though, so he closes it down and opens a new document. He’s gotten as far as splitting the page into two columns when the front door opens.

Arthur pokes his head in the door a few moments later.

“Hey,” Merlin says, looking up from his screen. “I was thinking Chinese takeaway tonight, my shout. What do you think?”

Arthur’s brow furrows. “Is there some special occasion or something I’ve forgotten about?”

Merlin shakes his head quickly. “No, no. I just… thought Chinese would be nice.” They’ve never needed an excuse for takeaway before.

“Okay,” Arthur shrugs. “Whatever’s fine.” He disappears from the doorway, his bedroom door opening and shutting a moment later.

It appears that whatever mood Arthur was in yesterday, he’s still in it today. Usually if something was bugging him at work, Merlin and Gwaine would be subjected to extended rants on the uselessness of Arthur’s co-workers, or the unreasonable expectations of his boss, so Merlin is in the dark as to quite what has him so snippy.

Twisting carefully so as not to topple the laptop off his lap, he reaches around the sofa arm and feels for the cordless handset that almost always lurks on the side table. He can’t find it at first, and wonders if for once it might actually be back on the base unit, but after scrabbling under the TV magazine his fingers finally wrap around it.

“Your usual, Gwaine?” he asks as he scrolls through the stored numbers to find their local Chinese.

Gwaine just nods, busy flicking through the channels to pick something to watch now the magazine show has come to an end.

Merlin phones in the order, reeling off his debit card details when given the option of paying over the phone rather than in cash on delivery – he has realised, belatedly, that he’s not sure he has enough cash in his wallet to cover it. A tip for the deliveryman he can probably stretch to, but the full order maybe not.

It will probably be about 20 to 30 minutes, the girl on the phone tells him in a voice filled with regret. They’re unexpectedly busy tonight.

That’s just fine with Merlin; he has a task he wants to get started on before they eat, and he wishes her a good evening before hanging up.

Arthur joins them a few seconds later, having changed out of his staid business suit into a more comfortable jeans and jumper, and settles down between Merlin and Gwaine. There’s a brief tussle over the remote control that Merlin tunes out as he returns to his document.

‘Pros’ he types at the top of the first column, highlighting the word so he can put it into bold font. ‘Cons’ is added to the top of the second column. He stares at the two words for a long minute, turning things over in his mind.

‘Get to see Will all the time’ is the first thing to appear in the Pros column. It’s the most obvious one, after all. It’s the main reason people do move in together, so they can spend time together.

After another moment’s thought, he adds ‘ _Have_ to see Will all the time’ to the Cons column. He likes Will a lot, he does. He’s smart, funny, cute… what’s not to like? But they’ve never actually spent more than about 20 hours together all in one stretch. And that generally includes at least a few hours spent asleep.

He doesn’t actually have a clue what Will would be like to live with, what _they_ would be like spending that much time together on a permanent basis.

He tells himself he’s worrying too much; they get along brilliantly for the most part, there’s no reason why that shouldn’t continue just because they see more of each other. The words stay in the Cons column, though.

He taps out ‘More space’ and ‘Closer to work’ quickly in the Pros column, feeling just a tad guilty that considerations about the flat itself come to mind more readily than anything else that actually _matters_.

He blows out a breath and glances over at the other half of the sofa, where his flatmates have settled down with a repeat of Top Gear on Dave. ‘Won’t see Arthur and Gwaine all the time’ is added to the Cons column. That one is a biggie – they’ve lived together a long time now. Over a fifth of Merlin’s entire life.

He and Arthur even longer; they might as well have been living together even when they were still at school, they spent so much time together. Arthur’s dad had been gone a lot on business, and it had slowly become customary that Arthur just stayed with Merlin and his mum whenever he was gone. (Until they’d reached upper sixth, when staying at Arthur’s instead on weekends when his dad was away meant avoiding the attempting to be quiet and sober parental gauntlet.)

Gwaine had somehow just slotted perfectly into their duo, and very quickly it had been like he’d always been there.

Merlin isn’t sure he knows how to live without them anymore, either of them.

Even if occasionally they annoy, confuse and irritate the hell out of him, he adds mentally as Arthur shifts in his seat and his elbow jars into Merlin’s ribs.

The buzzer for the front door blares in the hallway. Quickly saving his document and shutting his laptop lid, Merlin jumps up to let the deliveryman in.

They eat their meal in front of the TV, the coffee table pulled over from the wall and cleared off so they can set takeaway containers, plates and glasses on it. It isn’t exactly what Merlin had planned, but considering how sullen his friends continue to be throughout, he’s glad that at least the television is there to provide background noise.

He grabs his laptop and makes his excuses shortly after they finish clearing everything into the kitchen; it really _has_ been a tiring day, so he doesn’t feel guilty about stretching the truth slightly to give himself more time to work on his lists.

Crawling into the centre of his bed, he plus the power cable for his laptop in and hits the power button, waking it up from sleep mode. The lists of Pros and Cons comes up on the screen immediately.

He settles back against the headboard, arranging the laptop across his thighs, and stares at the two lists.

He’s sure there _must_ be more positives than this. Or why would anyone ever move in with a lover? Especially when it carries so much risk.

The thought sparks another sentence for the lists, unfortunately for the Cons column. ‘Will either be stuck awkwardly in flat with him or homeless if things don’t work out’ he taps out.

In number, the lists are even. Three pros, three cons. But Merlin knows in his heart that despite this balance, the Cons column is far heavier.

Whether this means he shouldn’t do it, he’s not so sure. There’s an awful lot riding on it going well if he _does_ do it. He just can’t decide if his inability to realise more of the positive aspects is purely down to the fear that that gamble inspires.

Whatever the answer, he realises that staring at a document isn’t going to get him any further in the decision making process. Not tonight, anyway.

He ponders shutting the machine down and going back out to join Arthur and Gwaine and whatever TV show they’ve decided upon, but he really doesn’t have the energy to deal with whatever is bothering them today.

He opens up a game of Minesweeper instead; just as much potential for frustration, but at least he can be reasonably sure to resolve it before bedtime.

 

Merlin wakes up the following morning with a single line from his Google searching the previous day circling in his mind. He reaches out and turns off the alarm, staring at the ceiling.

He hadn’t given it any more weight than anything else he’d read the day before, at the time, but on the back of a night’s sleep, it seems to have gained a certain credence.

 _If you have to ask, the answer is probably no._

The fact that even after two days thinking it over he still can’t confidently say he definitely _does_ want to move in with Will is surely a sign. He’s just not ready. Maybe some day, down the line, but… not now.

He sighs, noticing the lack of tension in his shoulders for the first time since Tuesday. His mind feels lighter and, despite the awkward task that still awaits him, he feels at peace with himself.

He does have to find a way to break the news to Will, though. He doesn’t want to hurt him – the tired cliché ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ runs through his mind – but he doesn’t know if there’s a way of saying ‘I don’t want to move in with you’ that doesn’t sting at least a little.

It being Friday, he has the benefit of a little time to think it over. This is not a conversation to be had over the phone, and he almost never sees Will on a Friday. Will has a standing post-work-drinks appointment with his friends from the office, and he, Arthur and Gwaine have spent almost every Friday for over five years in The Peacock, whether Gwaine was rota’d to work that night or not.

Very, very rarely, Will and his friends will show up there, but it’s only happened twice in the year they’d been dating, so he feels fairly safe in assuming it won’t happen tonight.

Wriggling upright, he grabs his phone and scrolls through his contacts.

 _Free tomorrow?_ he texts to Will, dropping the phone on the bed while he stretches and stands up.

He’s still tossing clean clothes onto his bed ready for when he gets out of the shower when it trills at him.

 _Yes. What you thinking?_

He thinks for a moment, settling on a small, quiet pub just around the corner from Will’s flat that they’ve been to in the past.

 _Lunch? At the Coach and Four?_

He jumps into the shower, scrubbing down quickly and rubbing a cursory soapy hand through his hair. There’s another text waiting for him by the time he dries off and throws his clothes on.

 _Sounds great, see you at 1. xxx_

A glance at his watch tells Merlin that he’s getting behind schedule, so he rushes through the rest of his morning routine, running out of the door with his coffee just in time for the bus to pull up at the stop.

He hopes that Freya is feeling better today – or at least that they’ve managed to get in some cover – or it could end up being another very long day. And he’s got planning to do.

 

Gwaine still has nearly a little over forty minutes left of his shift when Merlin arrives at the Peacock that evening, shattered from a second day in a row running ragged trying to see extra patients.

The place is busy, as it always is on a Friday evening, especially in this post-work period, but he manages to snag a stool at the bar and watches the bar staff scurry back and forth, not in any particular hurry to order himself. He’ll be happy to wait until Arthur shows up, which usually coincides pretty well with Gwaine getting off, when he’s working the early shift like today.

He nods genially at the girl behind the bar – he’s talked to her a few times before, but he can’t quite place her name. She plonks a glass of water in front of him ten minutes later, on her way back to the till. “You look lonely there without something to sip at,” she grins before whirling back to the mass of customers.

He turns the glass around and around between his hands, watching people flow around the bar, and lets his mind wander a little. It gets stuck on the conversation he knows he is going to have to have tomorrow afternoon.

It’s not going to be an easy conversation, and he’s not even 100% sure that they’ll make it out the other side of it intact. He knows that talking it over with someone would probably help, but no one he knows actually has experience of this sort of situation. And besides, in some weird way, he feels that Will should be the first one to know.

It involves _his_ life, after all.

He’s almost at the bottom of his glass, and the rush at the bar has started to slow for the dinner period, when Arthur appears beside him.

“Our booth’s free,” he says near Merlin’s ear.

Merlin turns to reply but he’s already gone, swallowed up by the groups of people still milling about near the tall bar tables.

It’s a good thing Merlin knows exactly where he’s headed; a booth near the back of the pub that they claimed as their own years ago. It isn’t always free, but they’ve taken over that booth more Fridays than not in all the time they’ve been coming here.

Gwaine arrives at the table moments after Merlin, three pints already cradled between his palms. He’s barely finished setting them down and sliding onto the bench beside Arthur before two more arms appear, placing their own drinks on the table. Merlin smiles up at Gwen and Lance, who evidently both have tonight off, for once.

Merlin isn’t sure he remembers the last time that one or other (or both) of them wasn’t on the bar on a Friday night. He scoots up closer to the wall, to allow them to squash in together on his side of the booth.

“You’ve got a free Friday night together, and you’re choosing to spend it with us? Seriously?” he asks them jokily, taking a sip of his pint.

Gwen shrugs beside him. “I know, clearly we’re insane,” she grins. “Either that or it’s just a habit we can’t break. It’s not like we like you guys or anything.”

Merlin nods and nudges her. “That must be it.”

“To be honest,” Gwen concedes, “we did think about going out and doing something special, just us. But we’re both just too shattered. No point.”

“Long day?”

“Long _week_ ,” Lance replies.

Gwen nods. “If I never see another fluid tank experiment again, it’ll be too soon.”

“I thought you already had all the experimental data you needed for your thesis?” Merlin says, frowning in confusion.

“Oh, I do, mostly,” Gwen confirms. “But I’ve been supervising the undergrad labs all week. There’s only so many times you can explain the same simple set of experiments before you actually go crazy.”

“And even the first years should know by now that supervising doesn’t mean we’ll actually do the lab _for_ them,” Lance adds.

Merlin reaches around Gwen’s back and pats Lancelot’s shoulder sympathetically. “I know the feeling. Freya’s been out ill for two days, so the rest of us have been trying to cover all of her patients as well as our own. If they haven’t found cover by Monday I think there might actually be bloodshed.”

Gwen shakes her head vehemently. “I don’t believe that. You don’t have it in you, Merlin.”

Merlin chuckles. “Maybe I don’t, but you haven’t met some of my co-workers. You wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of Nimueh, trust me.”

Gwen holds her hands up, a throaty laugh bubbling up. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“How about you, Arthur?” Lance asks, leaning across the table a bit and waving his drink towards the so far silent side of the booth. “Had a good week being stuffy and important in the city?”

Arthur takes a slug of his beer, shrugs. “No worse than any other,” he mumbles into the glass.

“Then why…?” Merlin starts, wondering why Arthur has been so cranky all week if work has been fine. The thought that perhaps Arthur has only been bad-tempered with _him_ is what silences the question – if he’s done something to upset his best friend, now probably isn’t the best time to talk about it. “Never mind.”

Gwen reaches across the table. “Arthur, are you…?”

“Fancy a game of pool, Gwaine?” Arthur interrupts, turning to the man sitting beside him, staring into his glass.

Gwaine lets his pint rest on the table and shrugs. “Sure, sounds good. You got change for the table?”

Arthur nods and shuffles along the bench, nudging Gwaine to stand up. “Should do.”

“Back in a bit,” Gwaine says as he does so, although Merlin cannot help but notice that it is directed firmly at Gwen and Lance, and not him.

The two men leave the table, drinks in hand, and disappear in the direction of the pool tables in the back corner of the pub.

Merlin watches them go, wondering why his best friends are so angry with him all of a sudden. He feels Gwen wriggle beside him, and from the corner of his eye he can see her elbow jabbing at Lancelot’s side.

Lance sighs. “I think I’ll just go and referee the game,” he announces in a tone that _absolutely_ doesn’t give away that he’s being forced into it. “You know what those two can get like when there’s an opportunity for competition.”

Despite the fact that Gwen has clearly pushed him into it, Merlin can’t deny that the idea _is_ actually a good one. He does, in fact, know what Arthur and Gwaine are like when they get competitive. And it’s never pretty.

Lancelot gets to his feet, picks up his drink and, with a quick kiss for Gwen, heads off in the same direction Gwaine and Arthur have just gone.

Merlin knows Gwen means business when she stands up and slides back into the booth opposite him. “So,” she starts, resting her elbows on the table. “Now that I’ve got you to myself… do you want to tell me what was just going on there?”

It’s pointless to pretend that he doesn’t know what she’s talking about; Gwen can always tell. “Gwaine and Arthur have been acting weird around me all week. I don’t know why, but apparently I’ve done something to upset them.”

Gwen raises one eyebrow in a manner that reminds Merlin almost painfully of his old neighbour growing up; that man could express more disappointment in a single eyebrow than most people could in a ten minute tirade. “And you have absolutely no idea what could have set them off?” she asks, although her tone definitely suggests that he should know.

He shakes his head. “I’ve hardly even _seen_ them most of the week.”

“So you don’t think that telling them your boyfriend asked you to move in with him is something that would upset them?” Gwen says pointedly.

Merlin blinks. “How did you even _know_ about that?”

“Gwaine told me on Wednesday,” Gwen shrugs. “But that’s beside the point. You don’t think it upset them to hear that you were considering moving out?”

Merlin lifts one shoulder uncertainly. “Well, maybe a little bit, but not like this. It’s not like I’d never see them again. And I hadn’t even decided whether I was going to do it or not when I talked to them.”

“And you have now?”

Merlin bites the inside of his cheek. Will really does deserve to be the first to hear his decision; a tiny white lie can’t hurt. “Not quite. I’m seeing Will tomorrow to talk about it, though. And I still don’t see why it would make Arthur and Gwaine so angry and upset with me.”

Gwen sits back and shakes her head slowly, wonderingly. “You really don’t know,” she says softly.

“Know what?” Merlin frowns. “Why I’ve apparently become the anti-christ in the minds of my best friends? No, I don’t.”

“Merlin,” Gwen starts, taking him by the hand. “How can you not know that they’re in love with you?”

Merlin just looks at her as if she’s insane. Which, judging by that last comment, he thinks she might be. “Yeah, okay. Sure. Both of them? Really?”

“Yes, really,” she replies intently. “It’s obvious whenever they look at you, how can…?”

“I think you need your head examining,” Merlin interrupts. “Or maybe your eyes. Because you’re seeing something that isn’t there.”

“Look, maybe you don’t see it,” Gwen says insistently. “But it’s there. And I’m not the only one to see it. They watch you when they think you’re not looking, both of them. They’re one step away from swooning like some heroine from a black and white film sometimes.”

Merlin doesn’t believe a word of it, he _can’t_. “Gwen, they’re my _best friends_. If they were, as you say they are, in love with me, I think they’d have, I don’t know… _mentioned_ it by now?”

Gwen shrugs. “I don’t know if they’ve even realised it themselves. None of you are the most emotionally self-aware guys on the planet.”

Merlin opens his mouth to protest, but stops short of saying anything. It’s probably a fair cop.

“And even if either of them _has_ figured it out,” Gwen continues, “you said it yourself. They’re your _best friends_. Neither of them would risk that. You’ve seen how they react at even the thought of you moving fifteen minutes away. They’re terrified of losing you.”

“While I’m sure that’d be true if they really _were_ in love with me, I still think you’re talking crap,” Merlin says, shaking his head. Although a part of him is starting to wonder if she does actually have a point. It makes more sense than he’s ready to admit.

Gwen takes a long drink from her glass. “Think that if you want,” she shrugs. “But I know I’m right. And sooner or later you’ll see for yourself. Trust me.”

“I know my friends,” Merlin says, with a lot more confidence than he actually feels. The thought is in his head now, and the more he lets himself consider it, the more plausibility it gains. Not that it’s actually true, of course, he assures himself. But in an alternate reality, it _could_ be.

But it’s not.

Although…

“If…” he starts uncertainly, swirling his pint and following the trail of tiny bubbles on the surface around the edge of the glass with his eyes. “If it _was_ true… and you were me…”

“Yes?” Gwen prompts.

“I…” Merlin hesitates. “What would you do about it?” He risks looking up to meet Gwen’s eyes, and finds her looking thoughtful.

“I’m not sure,” she says slowly. “It would depend, I think.”

Merlin frowns at her. “On what?”

“How I felt about them in return. Where I wanted things to end up, if I wanted things to change.”

“Right.” Merlin really hopes, in this moment, that Gwen isn’t right, because he’s suddenly not entirely sure about the answers to any of those questions. “I still don’t think you’re right, by the way.”

Gwen sighs loudly. “Oh, for goodness sake. Seriously, just watch them. Ask them, even!”

“ _Ask_ them?” Merlin looks at her incredulously. “That’s your suggestion? _Ask_ them? That’s not going to be awkward or embarrassing for anyone _at all_.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Gwen says, flailing a little. “You’re their friend, you know them better than anyone. You figure it out. But trust me, I’m right. I see these things.”

“You’re insane.” Merlin tips his head back, drains his glass. “Another?” He gestures towards Gwen’s nearly empty glass.

“Please,” Gwen nods. “Two ticks.” She holds up a finger as she finishes her drink and hands him the empty glass.

Merlin grips both glasses and skirts his way around the slowly growing Friday night crowd back to the bar. After six years of close friendship with someone who worked in a pub, taking his own glasses back to the bar as a method of getting more cheerful (and often better) service from the harried bar staff has almost become a routine.

On occasion, Gwaine has been known to actually refuse to serve him a second drink until he’s brought back the empty glass from the first. Pavlovian conditioning at its finest, but Merlin can’t really bring himself to mind; he’s befriended a lot of bartenders in various bars because of it.

 

Gwen and Merlin are onto their third drinks by the time Arthur, Gwaine and Lancelot return, quite evidently having made a few trips back to the bar themselves in the meantime.

Merlin knows, although the thought is slightly fuzzy, that he should cut himself off after this one. He needs to be thinking clearly tomorrow afternoon, and he won’t be if he’s feeling hungover and sorry for himself.

And besides, he still needs to figure out what he’s actually going to say to Will. Which he’d been planning on doing this evening, but all he can think about now is Gwen’s words earlier.

Despite repeated assertions that he thinks she is wrong, Merlin is, in fact, getting less and less sure by the minute. It _would_ explain the extreme reactions to his news on Tuesday. And when he dredges his memory, he’s not so sure that he hasn’t seen something more in various looks over the years. But maybe that’s just his brain putting a spin on things that never existed.

He’s even less sure what he wants to do about it if it does in fact turn out to be true. If he says nothing, does nothing, they could go on just as they have for years, with the one difference that Merlin would know it wasn’t _really_ what Arthur or Gwaine wanted.

But the alternatives – if he does something, says something… Things could get very uncomfortable.

And why would he say anything? He’s with Will, after all. And Arthur and Gwaine are his _friends_. Nothing needs to change, unless he wants it to.

And he doesn’t _think_ he wants it to. But maybe he does.

“Merlin?”

Merlin is startled out of his reverie by Lancelot’s concerned voice and the nudge he gets in the side.

“Are you okay? You’ve been having a staring contest with your pint for a good fifteen minutes now, and I hate to tell you this, but you’re not going to win.”

Merlin shorts and shakes himself. “I’m fine,” he reassures his friends. “Just… tired. Long day.” It’s not _entirely_ a lie.

He looks down at the inch or so of lager still in the bottom of his glass and pushes it away. “Might beg off now, though. Before I actually fall asleep on one of you.”

A memory surfaces of Arthur and Gwaine half-carrying him back to the flat once, years ago, when several all-night study sessions in a row had conspired to have him _actually_ fall asleep on them in the pub. And they’d attempted to get him home without bothering to wake him up first.

“Need someone to walk back with you?” Lance asks as Merlin starts gathering his coat and scarf and putting them on.

Merlin shakes his head and laughs. “No, it’s okay. I’m a big boy now, you know. I can look after myself for all of a ten minute walk home.” He bumps his shoulder against Lance’s as they stand up, Lancelot sliding out of the booth to let Merlin out. “Thanks, though.”

He tucks his scarf into his coat and pats his pocket, checking for his keys, before he turns back to the table. “Don’t drink too much,” he grins at them before turning to wend his way through the pub to the door. He can just hear Gwen calling ‘We never do!’ over the noise of the multiple conversations going on around him.

The night air is sobering, a sharp breeze blowing empty wrappers from the chippie up the road along the pavement, along with the odd empty can.

Merlin shoves his hands in his pockets for warmth as he walks the familiar route, his mind still back in the pub with Arthur and Gwaine.

One fleeting thought has turned into a hundred, and suddenly he’s second guessing everything he’s ever thought about his relationships with Arthur and Gwaine; his relationship with Will.

If someone had asked him this time last week, he would have said with absolute certainty that he was happy with Will. Sure, they weren’t perfect, but no one was. They had a good thing going.

Seven days later, and he isn’t certain at all any more what it was he actually feels for Will. He likes him, he likes him a lot, and they have had some brilliant times together, but Merlin is beginning to suspect his reluctance to move in with him might just be a symptom of a deeper problem.

If it is, he feels he really ought to figure it out before he sees Will tomorrow. It’s not fair on Will if he’s just leading him on.

The front door of his building appears more quickly than expected, and Merlin digs into his pocket for his keys. Once safely back in the flat, he rushes through his bedtime routine and settles down under his warm duvet to think.

Arthur and Gwaine – in love with him? He doesn’t know what to do with the idea.

He and Arthur have been friends for so long that it seems a little ludicrous that he wouldn’t have said something by now. Merlin had been an almost painfully shy twelve year old when they first met, and Arthur had been the one to draw him out, let him grow into himself. Arthur was the first person he came out to, back when they were still spotty teenagers, and he hadn’t really been all that surprised when Arthur’s response had been that he was actually pretty sure that _he_ was bi.

The topic of them together has never come up, though. He certainly isn’t Arthur’s usual type – for a start, he can count past ten without taking his shoes and socks off. Judging on the assortment of ditzy girls and guys he’s seen Arthur with over the years, he isn’t surprised that Arthur never sticks with the same one for more than a few weeks at a time. If that.

And okay, it’s not that he’s never considered it. Arthur’s never been hard on the eyes, and he’s also never been shy about wandering around in just his pants. They’re friends, but Merlin would have to be blind not to have looked.

He can even be sweet and charming, when he puts his mind to it. Although more often than not the sweetness of his actions is disguised by the brusque manner in which he performs them.

He’s been like that for the entirety of their friendship, and Merlin doesn’t think he’d change now – doesn’t _want_ him to change. They’d probably never even have become friends otherwise.

The only kid from his primary school to win a scholarship to Camelot Academy, Merlin hadn’t known a soul his first day there, and hadn’t found it easy fitting in. Arthur, he’d learned later, hadn’t had any of his friends from primary school either, but as a generally confident and talkative type, he hadn’t found the transition quite as difficult as Merlin had.

Merlin remembers, now, watching him in the corridors those first few weeks. His bright shock of blond hair had always marked him out, and it seemed that everyone knew who he was. It was a sharp contrast to Merlin himself, the dark scrawny kid who kept his head down and mainly just tried to make it through each day.

But Arthur… Arthur had grinned at him in the corridors every day, the only one of the rich elite Merlin was now surrounded with who took the time out of their day to notice him at all.

A flood of forgotten emotion sweeps through Merlin’s veins as he drifts into the past. He remembers how he came to live for those encounters with Arthur, engineering opportunities to be in the same place as Arthur as many times as he could through the day. His sexuality just beginning to make itself known, he’d quickly developed an all-encompassing crush on Arthur.

And then one day Arthur had simply taken him by the arm and brashly declared that they were going to be friends now. Merlin had never been given a choice, but knows he would have jumped at the chance had it been framed as an offer rather than an edict.

It hadn’t taken long for them to become inseparable, Arthur confessing a few weeks in that most of the ‘friends’ he’d made in the first few days at Camelot had been far more interested in how rich his father was than in actually getting to know Arthur himself. As their friendship had developed - with no hints yet that Arthur was not the unattainable straight boy Merlin had first thought him - Merlin’s crush had been pushed further and further into his subconscious until he’d forgotten it even existed.

Until now.

If Gwen is right – and Merlin realises that somewhere between their conversation earlier and now he has come to the conclusion that she very probably is – Merlin cannot help but wonder now if he wasn’t the only one harbouring inappropriate feelings for a best friend.

It doesn’t entirely explain why he would never have mentioned it, but Merlin knows Arthur well enough to know how easily he can slip into self-preservation mode. And it’s not like he’s ever admitted his crush to Arthur either.

Where any of it leaves them now, he hasn’t the slightest clue.

Twisting onto his back, Merlin stares at the ceiling in the dim light cast by his bedside lamp. Sadly, it doesn’t seem willing to provide him with the inspiration needed to figure out what to do with his situation.

A boyfriend that he can no longer say with confidence he wants to be with, and not one but two best friends and roommates who might possibly have feelings for him. He doesn’t want to consider how it could possibly get more complicated.

One complication of a best friend relationship would really have been quite enough.

Merlin wriggles down further in bed, tucking the duvet around his shoulders.

It isn’t entirely ridiculous to accept that Gwaine’s feelings might not be entirely those of platonic friendship, considering their history. Even if Merlin can’t, now, remember an awful lot of that particular night.

At the time, Merlin had been a slightly sloshed 18 year old on a night out with some coursemates, Gwaine had been the hot stranger who’d somehow looked past Merlin’s admittedly unique dancing style on the club dance floor and had bought him a drink. Most of the rest of the evening is a little sketchy in Merlin’s head, disjointed scenes and snapshots rather than a smooth sequence of events.

Meeting Gwaine again several weeks later, introduced by Arthur as the barman he’d befriended at their local, had been initially awkward. Merlin can’t remember now if either of them ever actually told Arthur they’d met before that, but they’d determinedly put that one night stand behind them and the friendship had gone from there.

Merlin is beginning to wonder just how good he is at pushing things into his subconscious and ignoring them. And if it’s something he should worry about. He hasn’t thought about any of these things for years, and it seems they’re a lot less resolved than he’d thought they were.

One thing _is_ finally clear, though – he can’t drag Will through this. His confused feelings are his own problem, and Will deserves more.

The thought of breaking things off with Will doesn’t upset him nearly as much as he knows it probably should, considering that a few days ago he was considering the possibility of _moving in_ with the guy.

His skill at self-delusion is clearly exceptional.

Turning off the lamp, Merlin buries his face in the pillow. It’s clear what he has do at lunch tomorrow, and after that… well, he’s just going to have to figure that one out.

 

Will is already waiting, bundled up in a parka, when Merlin rounds the corner and crosses the car park to the pub. He grins when he spots Merlin, but even from several metres away Merlin can see the apprehension behind the smile.

He leans over and presses a light kiss to Will’s cheek as he gets near. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Will nods, gesturing towards the front door of the pub next to them. “After you.”

Merlin can feel Will close behind him as they go through the two sets of doors into the cosy interior of the pub. There’s a fire roaring in the fireplace on one wall and, cold after his walk here, Merlin heads towards the closest vacant table he can find to it.

Neither of them bothers to pick up the menu once they’ve got their coats off and settled into their chairs; the menu here hasn’t changed in at least the ten months since they first came here, and they both know what they like on it.

Double checking his pocket for his wallet and taking mental note of the number inscribed on the table, Merlin stands up and takes a backwards step towards the bar. “You want your usual?” he asks, getting a nod and a smile in response.

It’s not busy, so Merlin has ordered their food and is back at the table with two full glasses within a couple of minutes. “So… busy week?” he starts, taking a sip as he sits back down.

“Not really,” Will responds, doing the same. “Pretty quiet on new client meetings this week, so finally been catching up on all the paperwork that’s been piling up. From your texts sounds like you’ve had a bit more on.”

Merlin shrugs, grateful that Will seems willing to go along with the small-talk for now. “Well, Freya at work’s been sick, and we’ve been trying to reschedule appointments and cover all her patients. So it’s been a bit frantic. And some of them weren’t very happy with seeing a different physio. I don’t know how she copes with some of them, actually…”

They manage to keep up the inconsequential chat right through their meals arriving and they’re thankfully down the point of the last few bites before Merlin runs out of light-hearted topics to introduce and knows it’s time to get to the point.

“So…” he says, placing his cutlery carefully side-by-side on his plate. “We should probably talk about the reason I asked you to come today.”

“It’s a no, isn’t it?” Will pushes his empty plate to the side and rests his elbows on the table.

Merlin blinks. There’s no point in denying it. “How did you know?”

Will shrugs self-depreciatingly. “All the signs pointed that way. You took four days to think it over, we’ve hardly talked in those four days, and you’ve clearly been putting off this conversation all through lunch. It didn’t really take a genius to figure it out.”

“Point,” Merlin concedes. “It’s not that… I don’t…” He takes a deep breath. “I do like you. We get along well, we’ve had some great times, it’s just… I think…”

“It’s okay if you’re not ready,” Will says. “I didn’t mean to pressure you into anything, I just thought you should know that…”

“No, Will,” Merlin interrupts. “It’s… it’s not just that, okay?” He bites his cheek nervously. “I…”

Will sits back, realisation dawning on his face. “This is more than just not wanting to move in, isn’t it?”

Merlin nods slowly. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking the last few days, about a lot of things. And I realised a few things about myself I’d been ignoring for a long time. I’ve still… well, I’ve got a lot of things still to figure out, but those are my problem. The thing it comes down to though, is… it wouldn’t be fair to you to carry on like this.”

“If you’ve got a problem, you know you can talk to me,” Will says earnestly. “I can be there for you if you…”

Merlin shakes his head vehemently, cutting off Will’s comment. “No. It’s not anything you can help with. I don’t even think it’s something that needs helping, it’s just…” He rubs his hands on the thighs of his jeans and goes for it. “I like you, I really do. But I don’t think I’m ever going to love you in the way I’d need to for us to work long term.”

Will sits stock still for a long moment; Merlin watches him worriedly. “Right,” he says eventually. “So… I guess this is it, then?”

Merlin nods. “I didn’t want to hurt you, but I don’t want to lead you on, either,” he explains, not sure if he’s making it better or worse.

“Yeah, I get it,” Will says blankly. “I… “

“Are you okay?” Merlin asks; he hates hurting him like this.

Will just shoots him a look.

“Right, okay, stupid question.” Merlin looks around the pub. “Do you want me to leave?”

Will shrugs. “Maybe?” He looks down at his hands on the tabletop. “It might be better if you did, actually. I… it’s not entirely unexpected, I guess, but… Yeah, it’d probably be better if you went.”

Merlin gathers his coat and scarf and starts putting them on even as he stands up. “I…umm… bye.”

Still buttoning his coat, he flees; he never wants to have to do something like that again.

He’s apprehensive when he opens the flat door; he hasn’t seen either Arthur or Gwaine yet today – neither of them had surfaced by the time he left to walk to the pub to meet Will. He suspects last night turned into quite a late one – it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary, and he was solidly asleep before they got home.

The curtains haven’t been fully drawn in the living room, and the volume on the TV is low, which he considers confirmation of his suspicions.

“Hey, you guys, late one last night?” he asks casually as he strips off his coat and toes off his shoes.

“I always forget that if Lancelot suggests playing a drinking game,” Arthur starts, voice soft, “I’m supposed to say no way. How that man can still remember so many stupid rules after so many drinks defies me.”

Merlin eases down onto the end of the sofa beside them. He’s fallen into the trap of drinking games with Lance himself a few times, and it never ends well. “So a bit fragile today, then?”

“A bit,” grunts Gwaine, who definitely looks like he’d rather be back in bed. “And I have work in a couple hours.”

Merlin smiles sympathetically.

“Where you been off out to, anyway?” Arthur asks, squinting sideways at Merlin.

“I met Will for lunch at the Coach and Four.”

A scowl flashes across Arthur’s face, brief but unmistakeable. “Oh.”

“I… um…” Merlin picks at a mark on the sofa arm studiously, unsure quite how they’re going to react to his latest bit of news. “I broke up with him.”

A hand on his shoulder pulls him around to face his flatmates.

“Seriously?” Arthur says, Gwaine echoing with, “Why?” a moment later. Clearly this _isn’t_ the news either of them was expecting this afternoon.

“I did a lot of thinking after Tuesday night,” Merlin says, shrugging a little. “And eventually I realised that the reason I didn’t feel ready to move in with him is that I just…” He runs a hand through his hair. “I can’t imagine myself with him in five years’ time. I don’t know that I ever loved him in quite the way I thought I did.”

He debates for a second making a vague mention of Gwen’s involvement, but decides against it; that conversation has far too much potential to get into territory he’s just not ready to discuss yet.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Arthur asks, slinging an arm around his shoulders.

Merlin leans a little into the hug. “I’m fine, honestly,” he says. “I know I should be more upset than this, but I’m not.”

The only thing he’s upset about is how awkwardly he left things; actually having broken up with Will has left him with more of a sense of relief.

“So you don’t need to come drown your sorrows while I work tonight?” Gwaine asks, leaning in.

Merlin shakes his head, grinning. “Seeing the state of you two this afternoon, I think not.”

Arthur’s arm tightens around his neck, hand coming up to ruffle Merlin’s hair. “Oi!”

Merlin ducks away. “Meant with the utmost of affection, of course,” he expands quickly. Armed with Gwen’s knowledge from the night before and his own resurfaced memories, he identifies the momentary flash of expression across Arthur’s face as pleasure at his statement.

He’s suddenly struck with the truth of this new situation: every interaction he has with Arthur or Gwaine now is going to be affected until he can figure out his own feelings about things. He nearly straightens and pulls away, but that will just prompt more questions than its worth.

And besides, he’s enjoying it. He hadn’t realised until now just how much he’d missed about the usual close relationship he shares with his flatmates, even just for the few days they’d been pushing him away.

If he never sees Will again it will hurt – he likes to think that some day they might find their way to being friends - but he’ll get over it. Just the thought of _actually_ being separated from Arthur or Gwaine for an extended period of time – let alone forever – is a physical pain in his gut. They’re more than just his best friends; he can’t imagine life without them.

In retaliation for the hated hair ruffle, almost without volition, he finds himself elbowing Arthur lightly in the ribs.

When Gwaine pounces on his socked feet and initiates a tickle war – something which had been almost a weekly event in their flat at one point – he knows he’s done for.

 

Merlin doesn’t know what to do. Having finally given his brain permission to think about it, he cannot _stop_ thinking about what ‘more than friends’ would be like with Arthur. Or Gwaine. Or Arthur _and_ Gwaine. The last has provided him with enough late night fantasy fodder to last years, even though he knows it’s probably rather less likely than either of the other scenarios to actually come true.

He keeps finding himself watching them whenever the occasion arises, and he’s fairly sure it’s becoming noticeable.

Although he apparently managed not to notice Arthur and Gwaine doing the same to him for years so he probably shouldn’t be so worried that they’ll have noticed after just a little over a week.

It can’t go on like this, though. He needs to say something, _do_ something. And he will… just as soon as he figures out what that should be.

He does know he can’t lose them – either of them. And he knows with sinking certainty that if he _were_ to attempt to pursue anything with one of them… he could easily end up ruining his relationship with the other. Even if he could choose, it simply isn’t worth the risk.

The tension is beginning to drive him crazy.

He finds himself writing out long, elaborate speeches that just end up torn, crumpled and tossed into the bin. The scenarios he imagines out while staring at his bedroom ceiling at night are dismissed as even more ridiculous than the speeches.

As much as he had scoffed at the idea of asking Arthur and Gwaine straight up about their feelings when Gwen had suggested the idea, as the days pass, it begins to have merit.

He needs to know before he actually goes out of his mind. Once everything is out in the open, things can only get better, right?

He knows Arthur and Gwaine are curious when he asks them not to make any plans for Sunday lunchtime; he’d initially planned for teatime, but Gwaine’s work schedule had scuppered that. He doesn’t have the nerve to give them any more details beforehand, though.

Sunday morning finds him pacing frantically around his own room, rehearsing the things he needs to say in his head. He’s terrifyingly aware that if this goes badly wrong, he could find himself looking for somewhere else to live. He doesn’t think it will go that badly, he _hopes_ it will go smoothly, but an annoying part of his brain keeps reminding him of the possibility.

By the time lunchtime actually rolls around, he’s practically shaking. No need for his normal caffeine hit this morning, the adrenaline is making him jumpy enough without it.

Gwaine is still just in his pyjama bottoms and a thin t-shirt when he emerges from his room shortly before noon, which doesn’t help Merlin’s nerves at all. Arthur joins them a few moments later, thankfully fully dressed.

“Can you both just… take a seat on the sofa, please?” Merlin asks them, hands flailing wildly towards the piece of furniture in question.

“Are you all right, Merlin?” Arthur says, taking a step towards Merlin instead, a concerned hand out.

Merlin nods frantically and shoes Arthur towards the sofa. “I’m fine, I’m fine. I just… I have something I want to talk about with both of you, so could you just go and sit down. Please.”

Arthur holds his hands up, looking startled. “Okay, okay.”

“Sorry.” Merlin clenches his fists and tries to regain his composure. “I didn’t mean to snap. Just… sit down?”

Arthur and Gwaine settle down together in the middle of the sofa, matching expectant expressions on their faces. The tight grip Arthur has on his own knuckles suggests he’s expecting the worst – whatever the worst might be.

Merlin paces in front of them for a few moments; he can’t do this like this. He can’t stand up like this in front of them like he’s making some sort of presentation. He casts around the room for a few moments before dragging the coffee table away from the wall and perching on the edge, his knees a few feet from those of his flatmates.

“Right,” he starts, all of his carefully rehearsed points completely disappearing from his mind. “So, I… The thing is…”

He closes his eyes for a second and takes a deep breath. “We have to get this out in the open before I go mad. Gwen told me, a couple of weeks ago… Look, you know I broke up with Will two weeks ago...”

“You’re not getting back with him, are you?” Gwaine interrupts, leaning forward.

Merlin shakes his head swiftly. “No, no, of course not. Definitely not. No, that’s not what this is. But the reasons why I broke up with him, well, the reasons I told you anyway, there are things I didn’t tell you.”

He brushes a hand through his hair, chuckling a little at himself. “I should have written this down,” he mutters. “I’m making a right hash of this.”

“Just start at the beginning,” Arthur says encouragingly.

Merlin takes a few moments and sorts his words out in his head before he tries to speak again. “I told you I broke up with Will because I couldn’t see myself with him long term, and that’s true, but really I broke up with him because…”

His nails dig into his palms and stares at the floor at their feet as he steels himself to make the admission he has been working himself up to all morning. “I broke up with him because I didn’t feel for him even a tenth of what I feel for you. Either of you, both of you.”

He chances a look up at Arthur and Gwaine, who both look slightly stunned. They’re not yelling or leaving, though, which he’s taking as a positive sign. “You don’t have to say anything,” he assures them. “I just… I thought you should know. You need to know, because it’s been driving me batty not saying anything and if we get everything out in the open then at least we can figure out what’s going on here. And also there’s something Gwen said.”

Arthur clears his throat. “Gwen?”

Merlin nods. “Gwen. I was talking to her that Friday, the day before I broke things off with Will. And I’d already decided that I wasn’t going to move in with him but it was some things she said that really got me doing some soul searching and thinking.”

He watches Arthur and Gwaine’s faces; this is it, after this he’ll know for sure. “She said, well, basically she said that I might not be the only one that feels this way. The more than friends feelings, that is. And that that was why you were both so upset with me when I told you about Will.”

Neither of them say anything, although they both look like they’d _like_ to if they only knew what to say. Which is new – Merlin is usually the tongue-tied one in this friendship.

“If she’s wrong, then she’s wrong,” he pushes on. “And I’ve just made a bit of an idiot of myself, but nothing needs to change, I can get over it, and it’s not like…”

“She’s not wrong,” Arthur and Gwaine interrupt simultaneously, turning to look at each other in startlement.

Merlin’s breath gets caught in his throat, and his gaze darts back and forth between the two of them. He’s spent the last few weeks fairly convinced that Gwen _was_ right, but to have it confirmed blows his mind a little.

“So you… really?”

Arthur and Gwaine glance at each other once more before nodding.

“I… well…” Merlin sits back on the table, worrying after a moment that it won’t hold his weight and relieved when nothing appears to snap or crack beneath him.

“So what do we do?” Gwaine says, echoing Merlin’s thoughts.

He shrugs a little, rubbing a damp palm across his sleeve. “Work out a way to get past it?” he suggests uncertainly. “I mean, what else can we really do?” He shifts uncomfortably. “I… look… it’s not like I can choose, can I? And even if I could, I wouldn’t. I couldn’t do that to either of you, it would just ruin things. It wouldn’t be fair.”

Arthur and Gwaine look at each other for a long moment, something passing between them that Merlin can’t identify. The matching grins when they turn back to look at Merlin worry him slightly.

“Merlin,” Arthur says seriously through his smile. “Whoever said you had to _choose_?”

A glance at Gwaine confirms his agreement.

Merlin nearly falls off the table in his shock. He steadies himself and stares at his flatmates – possibly soon to be rather more than that.

Still smiling, they shuffle along, opening up a space between them. Merlin blinks at them for a few moments, frozen, before launching himself into the gap.

With an offer like that, how could he ever say no?

 

“Arthur,” Merlin can hear Gwen saying sharply. “Put Merlin _down_. No one wants to see that.”

“That’s discrimination,” Arthur says – not for the first time – as he pulls back; Merlin whines involuntarily as Arthur’s lips leave his neck and wriggles closer, his hand creeping further up the back of Arthur’s untucked shirt.

“No it’s not,” Gwen responds, as always. “I’d be saying the same no matter who the two of you were. And you know it.” She laughs. “I’ve told you before, kiss all you want, but you’ve got a flat for anything else. Same as any other patrons. And you also know that I’m not above taking the soda gun to you if I have to.”

Merlin does, in fact, know this for a fact. It had only happened once, but one night of walking home with a T-shirt that still hadn’t quite dried out is quite enough.

“For crying out loud,” she continues, “it’s been nearly eight months, you’d have thought the three of you would be past this stage by now.”

Merlin nuzzles into Arthur’s neck for a second – he had never realised how convenient Arthur’s fondness for open necked shirts in the summer was until he started sleeping with him - before twisting his head to look at Gwen. “I don’t know about Arthur or Gwaine,” he grins. “But I’m never planning on getting past this stage.”

Arthur draws him back around with a hand in his hair, presses his back into the bar and presses a fierce kiss to his lips. “Me neither,” he murmurs into Merlin’s ear.

“Seriously, guys, why don’t you just wait for Gwaine at home?” Gwen asks as Merlin reluctantly twists around to face the bar, Arthur pressed tight against his back. Merlin resists rubbing against Arthur’s crotch, but only just. “You wouldn’t even have to have clothes on if you did that.”

He shrugs. “We like waiting here.”

“You have drinks,” Arthur says behind his ear. “And snacks. And sometimes a hot bartender to ogle.”

“You have food in your flat, don’t you?” Gwen says, ringing up the latest order at the till. “And leave my boyfriend out of this.” She winks.

“That’s not the point,” Arthur argues, his thumb stroking Merlin’s stomach through his T-shirt. “And not _your_ boyfriend, either.”

Even after almost eight months, it still gives Merlin a happy wriggle in his stomach to refer to either Arthur or Gwaine as his boyfriend. Even more so when they do the same about each other; the wrangling over quite how this relationship would work had been complex at first, and the simplicity with which they’re now enjoying it still occasionally leaves Merlin staggered.

“Are you trying to dissuade paying customers there, Gwen?” Gwaine says, coming out from the back room, back into his regular clothes after his stint behind the bar in the admittedly flattering black uniform polo.

“I don’t think I could get rid of those two if I tried,” Gwen retorts.

“Just to be sure…” Gwaine rounds the bar and skirts a small group of friends to reach Merlin and Arthur. “Don’t try.”

He slings an arm around Arthur’s back and drops a quick kiss on each of their mouths in turn. “You ready?”

“More than,” Merlin responds, tugging him back for a proper kiss. It’s just beginning to get interesting when a bar towel smacks him on the ear.

“Seriously, you three, get out of here before you do something that gets you arrested for indecent exposure,” Gwen says, brandishing the towel as if to swing it again.

Untangling himself from Arthur, Merlin steps away from the bar and holds his hands up in surrender. “All right, all right, we’re going, okay?”

“See you in class on Wednesday, Merlin?” Gwen calls as he makes his way out of the Peacock with Arthur and Gwaine.

He turns and walks backwards, trusting them to keep him from smacking into anything or anyone. “Absolutely, with bells on. And maybe this week I’ll even paint something that doesn’t unintentionally end up an abstract.”

“Well, miracles can happen,” she grins, turning back to her next customer.

Despite the early evening hour, the sun is still beating hotly down on their backs as they emerge from the cool shade of the pub. The three of them walking anywhere together had always been highly likely to result in a bit of horsing around on the way, but in the months since they went from flatmates to more-than-friends, their antics have tended to include just as many stolen kisses and sly gropes as they do shoves, tickles and prods in the ribs.

As a result, it isn’t only the June sunshine that has them hot and bothered by the time they stumble against the front door of their flat. Merlin digs frantically in his jeans pocket for his keys, only to have Arthur nudge him out of the way and open the door himself.

The door is barely closed behind them when Merlin finds himself edged up against the wall in the hallway, Gwaine’s tongue stroking the roof of his mouth. Arthur’s hair starts to tickle his cheek a moment later as he attacks Gwaine’s neck from behind.

“It’s… far too hot… for all these clothes,” he pants when he pulls back, the back of his head knocking against the wall.

“Couldn’t agree more.” Gwaine smirks predatorily and tugs at Merlin’s belt loops.

They strip each other efficiently as they bump their way down the hallway to Arthur’s room – Arthur’s bed had been the only one, on experimentation, they’d found they could all fit into comfortably at the same time, and they haven’t quite rid themselves of the habit of referring to the room as being Arthur’s, despite the lack of regular use that Merlin and Gwaine’s rooms see.

The sunlight through the window casts a bright slant across the bed, and Merlin pushes Arthur down in the middle of it, enjoying the glint of the sun’s rays on his fair hair.

It’s barely a second before he finds himself sprawled facedown on the sheets beside him, courtesy of an impatient Gwaine.

Reaching behind him, he tugs at Gwaine until he settles where he wants him, shoulders against the mound of pillows at the head of the bed.

Blanketing Gwaine’s body with his own, Merlin nips sharply at a nipple before starting a slow slide down his chest. Arthur wriggles around beside them; Merlin is momentarily distracted from his target when Arthur takes Gwaine’s mouth in a deep kiss, little pleased moans slipping out from between their lips.

Refocusing, he slips lower, his own already painfully hard cock brushing pleasurably against Gwaine’s strong leg. His mouth is already watering by the time he is faced with Gwaine’s, and he doesn’t hesitate, taking it as deep as he can in one swoop.

Gwaine’s hips jerk up in response, his groan loud even muffled through Arthur’s mouth. Merlin rests one hand on a muscled thigh, holding him steady as he begins a steady pace. He knows what Gwaine likes, alternating deep sucks with lighter, more teasing, tongue swirls. Two hands come to tangle in his hair; only one of them is Gwaine’s.

Arthur’s cock sways in his peripheral vision, his hips shifting as he evidently seeks friction. Merlin reaches up, spreading the fluid already gathering at the tip and matching the pace of his mouth. Arthur’s fingers tighten almost painfully in his hair, the pull just sharp enough to send a pulse of pleasure down Merlin’s spine.

Merlin lets his eyes drift closed, the breathy moans from above his head washing over him as he loses himself in his task.

“Merlin,” Gwaine grunts some amount of time later – Merlin doesn’t have any idea of how long, but the sun is still bright in the window when he opens his eyes so he doesn’t reckon it’s too long. He blinks up at Gwaine, drawing back so just the tip of Gwaine’s cock is in his mouth and licking into the slit at the tip.

“Stop, Merlin, stop,” Gwaine breathes, gripping at Merlin’s shoulders. “Too close, stop.”

Merlin pulls back, propping himself up on an elbow and letting his eyes stroke over Gwaine’s sweat-damp, heaving chest. Giving into impulse, he licks a line up across his stomach and chest, the salty tang mixing with Gwaine’s unique taste on his tongue.

Face buried in Gwaine’s neck, Merlin doesn’t notice Arthur moving until a wet heat lands on his lower back, tickling around a knob on his spine and making him squirm. Gwaine’s hands wrap around the nape of his neck, tugging slightly, and Merlin follows the lead, settling comfortable between Gwaine’s thighs, their lips lined up perfectly for sweetly drugging kisses.

The pressure on his back inches lower, and Merlin lets his thighs fall open in anticipation, wriggling slightly until his cock lines up against Gwaine’s. Gwaine rocks up against him gently, the hot slide on the sensitive skin of his cock knotting deep in the pit of Merlin’s stomach.

The slow rub distracts Merlin entirely from Arthur’s tongue until it circles his hole, sending a bolt of ecstasy right through his body. He pushes back instinctively, wanting more, but then Gwaine’s hips circle up again and he can’t help but thrust against them.

He’s caught, suspended between the two pleasures, his body at war with itself on what it wants more. Arthur licks deeper, Gwaine thrusts harder, and Merlin drifts blissfully, his back arching as tingles shoot through his veins, curling his toes and sparking at his fingertips.

He’s only vaguely aware of Arthur pulling away, saying something to Gwaine. There’s fumbling in the top drawer, and then the heat of Arthur’s tongue is replaced by a coolly slick finger.

“Cold!” he complains against Gwaine’s lips.

“Sorry,” Arthur mumbles insincerely against his shoulder. “Won’t happen again.”

It will, Merlin knows it will – Arthur seems to take a perverse pleasure in making him jump at the temperature – but when a second finger joins the first, he can’t bring himself to care.

He has to bite his lip to hold back from the edge when Arthur curls the tips of his fingers, brushing against that spot deep inside him that makes him see stars. “No more,” he mumbles, batting behind him at Arthur and trying to get his knees under him. “Now, please.”

He pulls Gwaine up with him until they’re kneeling together in the centre of the bed, bodies plastered together from thigh to shoulder. Sliding his hands down from Gwaine’s shoulder blades, he grips the firm arse cheeks he so loves to admire in tight jeans and pulls them tight together.

Arthur fumbles around behind him for a few seconds before he presses up against his back, hard cock sliding slickly against his hole.

He wriggles, frustrated. “Don’t tease, Arthur,” he mutters breathlessly. “Just, now.”

Arthur reaches around them and grants his wish, pushing in slowly, the familiar burning stretch nearly tipping Merlin over the edge.

They set up a slow rhythm, Merlin screwing back onto Arthur's cock and then forward, grinding against Gwaine’s. It can’t stay that way, and they gradually writhe together faster and faster, their wet kisses getting sloppier and less coordinated, as they chase release.

Merlin crashes over the edge first, every muscle in his body quivering as fireworks go off behind his closed eyelids. He’s still trembling in the aftershocks, not entirely aware, when Arthur and then Gwaine follow him over.

When he regains full consciousness, he’s sandwiched between Arthur and Gwaine, their heads sharing a single pillow. Arthur hands him a wet-wipe from the tube on the bedside table, and he cleans up quickly, his eyelids already starting to droop.

Gwaine hooks the duvet from the bottom of the bed with his foot, tugging it up over them and wrapping an arm around Merlin’s waist.

A lazy glance at the digital clock over Arthur’s shoulder tells him it’s still fairly early; dinner can wait for a while. Right now, with his lovers around him, he’s exactly where he wants to be.


End file.
